The Sand Beach in Winter

They had reflected on their time there and looked at each other and shaken their heads. There was no way to put it in words. The sand beach in winter was time out of mind.

It was the only sand beach along a stretch of coast and a necklace of islands that were otherwise spiked with unforgiving granite. Where ships driven ashore came to grief. Where there was no place for softness and little place to play. The sand beach itself was mainly only for the summer people. In summer they were there in droves, their colorful kayaks beached, their sailboats and cruisers moored, their kids and dogs splashing in and out of the water, themselves on towels sharing drinks and drink-inspired conversation, their several tents testifying to their resolution to have plenty of fun.

In winter the beach was deserted. Except for the two winter visitors.

In winter the two would clean up after the summer people, bagging all the blackened cans and bottles in the firepit. One year they found a sofa in the slough in the middle of the island.

The sand beach in winter was time out of mind.

"What are you thinking?" she would say.

"I'm just catching the thoughts," he would say. "And I'm throwing them back. They're too small."

And they would laugh and the small waves would lap at the beach and the time would be eaten away.

At night they would sit in the sand with their legs crossed and ask questions of the stars and shake their heads at the answers, blindingly luminous answers that were too much for their inner mirrors.

They made love till the ocean rocked with their cries and the sand coated their uncovered flesh and the sandpapering subsequent pain cooled their madness. And the frigid moonlit North Atlantic numbed them when they waded in.

It was winter and time was out of mind and they were out of their minds.

It was one of many winters and their time was near an end.

There was no way to put it in words.

There were no words.

There were none.

19 January 2025
Texas Jim
Prospect, Nova Scotia
www.granitecoast.ca